


it's in the air (and it's all around)

by ambitioncutsusdown



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 22:13:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1404379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambitioncutsusdown/pseuds/ambitioncutsusdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You got plans for tonight?" he asks her, his breath ghosting over her lips and letting out a tiny noise of protest when Malia nods.</p>
<p>"Lots of plans," she says, her hands skimming down Stiles’ sides. "And the first of them is to get naked with you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's in the air (and it's all around)

**Author's Note:**

> what do we need - gratuitous stalia porn. when do we want it - all the time!!!!
> 
> (this was posted to my [tumblr](http://queergladers.tumblr.com) first, but then i decided to fix it up a little and post it here as well)
> 
> (tagged for underage because they're both seventeen-ish and i wasn't sure if i should add it or not, so just to be safe i did :) )

It’s Friday evening and Stiles hates his life, because he could have gone to the movies with Lydia, or he could have been playing games with Scott, or he could be hanging out with Isaac, but instead he’s at home, writing his History essay, and his life has never sucked so much.

The fact that he can’t concentrate isn’t helping. Every time he’s written as much as fifty words, he can feel his concentration slipping away until suddenly everything is interesting. He hasn’t touched the drawers of his desk in years, but now he has the urge to go through them and clean them. Can’t work in a messy place, right? Isn’t that what they say?

He feels jittery (which is maybe from having too much energy drink, but hey, he needed to stay awake to finish this) and focusing on some shit that happened in the sixteenth century seems like the most boring thing on earth. Not to mention impossible

Ignoring the temptation to text someone — anyone — he tries to give his essay another chance, typing slowly and erasing the sentences almost immediately after because even he can see how shitty they are, and he’s not even a history teacher.

The final slip of his concentration comes when his dad calls out to him. A “Stiles, there’s someone here for you,” in a voice that Stiles can’t place. It’s not the fond tone he uses for Scott, nor is it that you better watch yourself for pretty much everyone else.

He gets up from his chair, ready to go downstairs, but he’s stopped when his door swings open and there she is.

_Malia_.

Smiling brightly and wearing loose sweatpants and a tanktop. Her hair is a little messy, face a little shiny with sweat, and Stiles suspects she’s been out running before coming over.

"Hi," he says, essay forgotten and mind completely focused on Malia, "what you doing here?"

"I thought I’d surprise you," she replies, closing the door after she’s entered the room, "but you don’t look very happy to see me."

Stiles rolls his eyes and holds his hand out, signaling her to come closer. “Shut up,” he mutters, right before, tilting his head so he can capture her mouth into a kiss.

He can feel Malia’s lips curl into a smile and it still amazes his that he can do this — that he can pull this gorgeous girl close to his body and kiss her, that she wants him to do that. It’s been weeks and it still makes him dizzy sometimes when he thinks about it.

"You got plans for tonight?" he asks her, his breath ghosting over her lips and letting out a tiny noise of protest when Malia nods.

"Lots of plans," she says, her hands skimming down Stiles’ sides. "And the first of them is to get naked with you."

Another noise escapes him, but this time it’s definitely not out of protest but rather anticipation and promise, want already coursing through his body, and he knows she’s picked up on the skyrocketing of his heartbeat.

Malia presses closer to him again, forcing Stiles to take a step backwards until the edge of his desk is digging into his back. She claims his mouth in another kiss, this one lasting a lot longer than their previous one, and getting _a lot_ more intense.

She likes to kiss hard and rough, teeth clacking in an attempt to get more, her tongue teasing Stiles in a way that is nothing but _dirty_ , and Stiles wonder how she’s learned to do that because there’s no way in hell she got that from him.

Her body feels so warm when he touches her, her arms strong but her back surprisingly soft, so easy for him to slide his hands down it, down to where her shirt has ridden up a bit and he can touch that small sliver of skin between shirt and sweats.

Malia smirks, her own hands tangled in his shirt and dragging it up slowly, making sure she grazes Stiles’ bare torso as she does so.

They stop kissing long enough to pull Stiles’ shirt over his head, but then she’s got her mouth on him again, tugging his lower lip with her teeth until Stiles whimpers.

It’s only then that she licks into his mouth again, slowly, like the tease she is.

Looking for retaliation, Stiles moves one of his hands up, until he reaches her breasts and can cup them in his palm.

Malia’s reaction is immediate — the soft moan she lets out, almost completely swallowed by Stiles’ mouth, and how she presses herself just that bit closer, her hips grinding into his.

"You’re not wearing a bra," Stiles mumbles, a little dazed and wondering how he didn’t notice that sooner.

She licks over his lips and hums. “M’not wearing panties either,” she whispers.

Stiles can feel his knees buckle and his dick twitch, doesn’t try to hide the way his hips snap forward at that mental imagine.

Malia ducks her head, lips brushing over his pulse, and this time she peppers kisses over Stiles’ neck and collar bone, each inch of pale skin she can reach, until Stiles is sort of clutching her, unable to focus on anything but her wet mouth on his chest, her tongue flicking over his nipples and her teeth no doubt leaving a bite mark that’ll last for at least two days.

"Bed," he stutters a moment later when he feels his knees buckle.

He can hear Malia’s laugh, but can also feel her move away and he follows eagerly, as gracefully as he can manage (which is not graceful at all, but at least he doesn’t stumble).

Malia sits down first, tugging her top over her head, and Stiles cannot _not_ stare at her boobs, how fucking beautiful they look and how badly he wants to get his mouth on them.

"D’you wanna take off my pants?" Malia murmurs, spreading her legs a little, a smirk that is purely _evil_ playing on her lips.

Someone keens and Stiles only knows it’s him because it wasn’t Malia and there isn’t anyone else in the room.

Sliding on the bed, Stiles gives in to his first instinct and aims for Malia’s chest first, worrying his lips around one nipple and teasing the other with his fingers, pleased when he notices Malia arching into his touch. “Yeah,” he hears her whisper, looks up though his eyelashes to see her sucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

He switches his mouth to her other nipple, suckles it lightly until it’s hardened, until Malia’s breathing is getting heavier, until she’s canting her hips up into thin air.

It’s only then that he moves lower, dragging his lips over her stomach and licking right above the waistband of her sweatpants. A soft chuckle escapes him when he feels Malia shiver, the muscles in her stomach rippling under his touch, but then she apparently decides she’s had enough of it and hooks her thumbs in her sweats to push them down.

Stiles helps her, getting her legs free and absently throwing the pants aside, too intent on watching her to really care about where they land. He can see how wet she is, can almost _smell_ it.

"You too," Malia mumbles, breathless already.

It takes a second for Stiles to figure out what he’s talking about, but gets rid of his pants the moment he does. His briefs follow immediately after, a hiss leaving him as the _too-much_ pressure on his dick is gone.

Malia’s hands are on him the moment he crawls over her body, trying to touch as much as possible, and then they’re kissing again, _needy_ and _urgent_.

Stiles feels a shiver going down his spine when Malia bucks up, practically grinding against him. He groans against her lips, shifting so his cock is dragging over her folds. It’s be so easy to push inside, and he wants, god he wants. Wants to feel her and _fuck her_.

"Condom," he rasps out, clenching his hands in the sheets next to Malia’s head.

"Get one," she mumbles, eyes hooded and lips parted. " _Now_.”

He kisses her a moment longer but then has to reach over to his nightstand, both of them whining at the loss of contact, the loss of _touch_ , but he’s back into his previous position only seconds later, already tearing open the condom and rolling it with trembling hands, all too aware of Malia’s eyes on him and the way she’s licking her lips.

"God, I wanted to blow you," she says, almost like she regrets not having had that chance tonight.

Stiles has to close his eyes to keep himself together.

He slides in between her legs and Malia eagerly pulls him closer again, reaches down so she can grasp the base of his cock. “Next time I’m gonna suck you for so long,” she mumbles, dragging her fingers up and down his length, letting the tip slide over her core — a movement that makes both of them groan.

"You’re killing me," Stiles mutters, face pressed into the crook of her neck.

She laughs breathlessly, her head thrown back and her chest arched up against his. “C’mon, Stiles. Fuck me,” is all she says.

Without missing a beat, Stiles rocks his hips forward and pushes in, slowly to make sure he’s not hurting her, but the only noise Malia lets out is one of pure _pleasure_. A moan that can almost be described as _sated_.

Stiles has trouble keeping himself up, his entire body trembling just from how good she feels; how _wet_ and _hot_ and _tight_ she is around him, how she tilts her hips to meet his movements, how gorgeous she is spread out underneath him.

They move almost completely in sync; Malia rocking her hips down when Stiles pushes in, one hand in his hair and the other clutching over his back, keeping him as close to her as she can manage while still being able to thrust.

He’s panting into her skin, groaning every time he pushes in — a sound that’s matched by Malia’s keens and breathy gasps, she shuddering of her body.

It’s only a few minutes later that Stiles can already feel this familiar heat in the pit of his stomach, after a particular loud moan of Malia and feeling how she’s clenching around him. “Not gonna last much longer,” he warns her.

Malia gasps and nods, removing her hand from Stiles’ hair and taking his hand instead, guiding it down between their bodies and Stiles gets the hint.

He drags his hand to her core, finding her clit and immediately adding _pressure_ to it, making Malia cry out. He tries to circle his fingers over it in the same rhythm as his thrusts, but it’s sloppy and doesn’t match up at all, but he doesn’t care. All he wants is to get her off first and judging by the sound of it, he’s doing okay.

Malia bucks up into his hand once or twice, and Stiles can feel her cunt clench around him impossibly tight, and a moment later she’s coming with a cry of Stiles’ name, her body going rigid and shaking by the force of it.

Letting his hand fall away, Stiles pushing in a few more time, incredibly on the edge and needing just _that little bit more_ , but that’s all it takes for him to reach his climax as well, his moan muffled into Malia’s skin.

It takes some long minutes before either of them has caught their breath. Stiles lifts his head to look at Malia, who has a grin on her face and looks quite content.

"Don’t be so smug," he mumbles.

"My boyfriend just fucked me, I’m allowed to be smug," she replies.

Stiles rolls his eyes, decides to deal with the condom before he deals with her smugness.

After he’s pulled out (both of them whimpering at the feeling) and gotten rid of it, he flops down on the bed again and cuddles up to her. She easily lets him and snorts. “I still can’t believe you’re a _cuddles after sex_ kind of guy. You’re pathetic,” she mumbles fondly.

"You like me."

"You wish."


End file.
